Checkmate
by Rhi
Summary: Rimmer and Lister play a game of chess...with unexpected results.


**Checkmate**

"Ha." Rimmer smirked triumphantly as he tapped Lister's king with his queen. He leered at the olive-skinned man, who sat across from him wearing an intense expression and a curry-stained shirt. He sucked idly on a dreadlock and frowned at the chessboard in front of him as Rimmer maneuvered his queen into position. He spat out the dread to speak. 

"Hang on a tic," he said. "That's an illegal move. You can't do that."

"How would you know?" Rimmer scowled, miffed at his cheating being spotted, by Lister of all people. It was all right if Kryten pointed it out, but Lister? The man had the brains of a small potato. "You've played less chess than a baboon. No, wait; they used to train baboons to do that sort of thing. You've played less chess in your entire life than an incontinent buffalo with bowel problems."

"I guess one of those wouldn't exactly play chess that much," conceded Lister. "He'd keep having to rush off to go to the loo all the time, wouldn't he?"

Rimmer scowled and replaced his queen in its previous place. Life on Starbug had been relatively normal as of late, consisting mainly of looting the odd derelict they stumbled upon for curries and, for Rimmer at least, playing chess with Lister and usually losing horribly. However, the hard-light hologram was not prepared to concede that he had lost more than once to a man who had read about as many books as a dyslexic rabbit.

"Try again," said Lister, swigging from his beer can. Overdue, he realized that it was the can he'd used for the ash from his cigarette moments earlier. He choked and reached for a new can, while Rimmer rolled his eyes, pushing one of his pawns forward a space.

"Fine. Your turn. You know, playing chess with you has to be the least stimulating experience I've ever had in my entire life. And death," added Rimmer, sipping at his own tea. Lister ignored his comment, moving his remaining bishop to take one of Rimmer's pawns. 

"You were the one that suggested it," Lister pointed out, popping open a beer. He grimaced as some of the froth spilled onto the chessboard, and wiped it off with his shirttail. Rimmer made a face.

"You're disgusting," he said. "You're quite possibly the slobbiest being in the universe. Actually, you _are_ the slobbiest being in the universe." He stared at the board, formulating his next move.

"Thanks." Lister pulled a soggy dog-end from behind his ear and lit up, taking a drag. Wordlessly, he offered it to Rimmer, who just glared at him. Lister shrugged and brought the cig back to his lips. "Suit yourself." He sighed in disappointment as, making up his mind, Rimmer moved his second remaining pawn one space. "Even in chess you're a bloody coward!" he exclaimed.

"The word isn't 'coward', Listy," sneered the older man. "The word is 'strategy', something you lack completely."

"Explain why I'm winning, then," said Lister smugly. "Ha! Checkmate," he finished gleefully, bumping Rimmer's king off the board. He rose to his feet, and taking a few seconds to set aside his beer and cigarette, did the touch-up shuttle. "Am I good or what?"

Rimmer got to his feet and stomped out of the room. Lister sighed - Rimmer had been so moody as of late, taking offence at even the slightest innocuous comment. Once, he even threatened to rip Kryten's head off and spit down his diodes for asking if he wanted his underwear hung on coat-hangers or if he wanted to do it himself. If Lister didn't know Rimmer to be a man (more or less), he would have sworn that Rimmer had PMS.

"Wait!" Lister took off after him. He followed Rimmer into the quarters they shared, watching as he flopped onto his bunk and stretched out, staring at the bulkhead moodily. Lister could practically hear the guy grinding his teeth. "Rimmer, man. It was only a game of chess," said Lister, sitting on his own bunk. Rimmer didn't reply. "It's not as if it's a big deal or anything, you know? It's not that important."

Rimmer sat up, swinging his legs of the bed. He turned a killer basilisk stare on Lister, but the dreadlocked man didn't flinch. He remained silent, and the longer Lister looked at him, the more he wanted to laugh. He had to say something before he burst out into giggles and pissed off the guy even more.

"Rimmer, man..." He started, but was interrupted by a furious Rimmer.

"No. I refuse to take this kind of treatment." Rimmer stood and began to pace. "I'm an officer of the Space Corps. The most senior one on this ship. I won't tolerate insubordination."

Lister stared at him in bemusement. "Insubordination?" he said, doubtfully. "Rimmer, I wasn't insubordinating you. It was just a game of _chess_, for smeg's sake!"

"Maybe for you!" said Rimmer. "But it isn't for me. Chess is a game of logic, a game of skill, a game of intelligence. And yet _you_, a man with an IQ the same number as a snake's legs, keeps beating me at it. Does this make sense to you? Does it seem fair?"

"Well," said Lister, "It's just that you sort of charge ahead when you're playing, Rimmer. You don't give any consideration to your moves. It's like your desire to prove you're better than me sort of inhibits your playing, know what I mean?"

"Why, Listy," sneered Rimmer, "You actually used a few big words in that speech of yours. It's remarkable. You should have told me beforehand, so I could have recorded it."

"That was uncalled for, man." Lister looked hurt.

Rimmer sighed and flopped down on his bunk. "Yes. I know. It's just, all my life I've been regarded as a failure at everything. I need to feel better than somebody."

"Well, then feel better than Kryten, or the Cat! Not me! I have to live with you, remember," Lister stressed. He began to pull off his boots, reaching with one hand towards his Athlete's Foot cream. Rimmer made a face.

"Don't do that while we're having a conversation, Lister," he said, plugging his nose as one of Lister's boots came off. The last human being in the whole of the galaxy looked up from his foot, which gave off noxious steam.

"Why not?"

"Because the smell somewhat distracts people who are attempting to talk to you. It sort of makes one want to run away screaming in fear rather than hang around and tolerate the smell, let alone your company," said Rimmer. Lister sighed and replaced the cream and his boot, retying the laces. Rimmer unplugged his nose. "Thank you." Lister shrugged, conciliatorily.

"Now then, where was I...oh yes," said Rimmer. "I already _do_ feel better than the Cat and Kryten. But I need to feel better than you, too. Besides, I basically live with them too. I see them every day, don't I?"

Lister was, once again, bemused. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you need to feel better than me?" Lister innocently chewed a dreadlock, awaiting Rimmer's response.

"Well...because you're human." Rimmer looked puzzled, as if the question had never occurred to him before.

"The Cat's human. More or less," said Lister. "Kryten, well, he's almost human."

"No he's not," Rimmer insisted. "He's an obsessive, jealous android with a malfunctioning anxiety chip. Besides, one look at that mug of his and you can tell he's not human." Rimmer rolled his eyes. 

"You know what your problem is, Rimmer?" Lister asked. He began to tug off his boots again. Rimmer overlooked it, this time.

"What?"

"You're a control freak," said Lister conversationally as he began to slather cream between his toes. Rimmer pursed his lips in distaste, but otherwise did his best to ignore it. "You have serious self-esteem issues. A year of counseling - okay, maybe five years - and people will find you a _lot_ more pleasant to get on with. Bet you anything." He replaced his boot and started on the other one.

Rimmer glared at him. "What would _you_ know, smeg-for-brains?"

"Come on, Rimmer. Deep down, I'm sure you're a good guy." Lister paused. "Sort of."

Rimmer glared at him.

"Possibly. Maybe. Who knows? All you need to do is try not to be such an unpleasant git. You don't even try, that's your problem. Underneath all those neuroses and obsessions there's bound to be a grain of good in you, though. You just have to find it. It's in you, buried deep down. _Very_ deep down. I'm sure," Lister sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Rimmer.

"You really think that?" Rimmer looked touched. Lister nodded.

"Yeah. Really," he put on his 'sincere' look, a look that only managed to make him look like a puppy with severe, painful bowel movements.

Rimmer got up. "Want to go for another game?" He hadn't actually said sorry for yelling at him, but Lister could hear the subtle apology in his voice.

Lister smiled and stood, following the hologram out the door. "Sure."

Before they entered the galley, Rimmer turned back to his roommate. "Lister?" He looked hesitant.

Lister shifted his weight tentatively. "Yeah?"

"Thanks." Rimmer smiled, hesitantly, unsurely. Lister stared at him a moment, waiting for an insult, but when none came, he smiled back.

"No problem, Rimmer. No problem at all."

The two men - one hologram, one human - headed off to play yet another game of chess.

Rimmer lost. 

Again.

Although he wasn't angry about it. Not this time.


End file.
